


Miraculous

by kyrilu



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Kneeling, M/M, Manipulation, Pain, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 01:58:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8602768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: He says, "Can you do something for me, Credence? Can you kneel for me?"





	

**Author's Note:**

> ...this is the second time I've tried to write something explicitly PWP for these two, but it ended up turning into something different.

Gellert, masked as Percival Graves, runs his hands across Credence's cheeks, his shoulders, and the slope of his neck. It is his routine of reassurance: an unspoken  _you're doing so well, you're a good boy, keep doing what you're told._

He's used to being beaten, Gellert thinks. He's used to being hurt. There is something about the soft brush of hands that does the boy in.

It is a fascinating lesson on control. Gellert has always known this, but it makes him feel a heady rush, knowing how carefully placed touches and words can be just as effective as an Imperius Curse.

Gellert's fingertips linger at the curve of Credence's ears, tucking a stray lock of black to the side. Credence's eyes are closed; he is basking at the physical contact and Gellert is charmed by his vulnerable naivety.

Then, Credence lets out a sob.

It is barely noticeable at first. Credence is very obviously trying to hold it in and repress it. But Gellert sees the tracks of tears on his face and he is drawn to the movement of it.

Gellert touches the dampness with his thumb. A swipe of his finger. Credence's eyes flutter open.

"When you pray," Gellert says, and he is surprised by the hoarseness of his voice, "you get on your knees, don't you?"

"Yes," Credence says. He blinks rapidly, as if he can get rid of the tears that way. "My mother has us pray every day. She tells us to pray for the deaths of witches, so that they burn in hellfire. Mr. Graves, why--?"

"Shh," Gellert murmurs. "The prayers hurt, don't they? What she says about witches, because of your own mother, your real mother. And you feel it as well, because of the untapped magic in your blood."

"I can barely remember my real mother," Credence says. There is a solemn, longing expression his face. "But I know she didn't hurt me. I think I remember her doing magic, making light, but it might be my own foolishness, my made-up dreams."

"Trust yourself," Gellert says. "Don't place your faith with those words of damnation you've been forced to recite."

The only things that Gellert has faith in are the Hallows. Three powerful objects created into being through magic, now remembered as legends. Muggles are very strange and primal in their beliefs, but Gellert has always been intrigued by the grandiosity of religion and how it holds sway over thousands and thousands.

He says, "Can you do something for me, Credence? Can you kneel for me?"

He curls his hand against the side of Credence's dark hair. The motion is a soft, encouraging push of his palm, and Credence yields to the force, so pliable and obedient. Gellert watches him crumple.

He takes in the sight of Credence Barebone on his knees. The boy has his head half-tipped upward; he looks confused, uncertain, but he is still waiting for Percival Graves to tell him what to do next.

His hand still twisted in Credence's hair, Gellert whispers, " _Crucio_."

The Cruciatus Curse sends red sparks that wrack through Credence's wiry frame, making him shudder and gasp. Credence has a strong tolerance for pain, because he doesn't collapse entirely--instead he holds his position there on his knees, his hands pressed against the ground, knuckles white, as he braves through the stabbing, stinging sensations of the Cruciatus.

Beautiful, Gellert thinks.

When the curse is over, Credence looks up at him, his teeth chattering, his body trembling, his face wet with tears. "I don't understand," he says. "What did I--? That was like-- _her_ \--but you said, you promised you weren't like--"

"No. I'm nothing like your mother. I would never truly harm you," Gellert says. He lowers himself to sit down on the ground beside Credence. "That was a test."

"A test?"

"Yes," Gellert says. "You held on throughout that spell, and not many people can do that. It's a powerful curse. I wanted to show you how _this_ is your strength, Credence. This is what you have inside of you. You have lived a hard life, but it's made you who you are. Soon you'll be free."

"It hurt," Credence says quietly.

"I know," Gellert says, gentle, and he takes Credence's hands into his. "Next time, when you're on your knees and hearing your mother's ugly prayers, think of me. Think of how you withstood this pain. You are brave and strong and special, my boy, my miracle."

* * *

 

He didn't know how close he was to the truth, then.

"You are a miracle," he tells Credence, immersed within his Obscurus.

His miracle. His to shape and to teach and to command. He should have seen it from the very beginning.

But his miracle dissipates in a burst of light from the Aurors' spells, and Gellert thinks, for a flash of a moment, that he knows no prayer for this.


End file.
